~9~

~Chapter Nine~

It's so cold, baby, it's dark outside
Winter comes creeping in through the night
And it's hard when I just want to hold you tight
Breaks my heart but nothing can break this ice

~Birdy, Winter~

I felt dead inside.

For the past few days, I was struggling to put a name to my state of mind. Depressed, scared, tired, worried—they all fit the bill, but I wasn't just one of those things.

I had the misfortune of being all of them.

And I wished someone in my life could truly empathize with what I was going through. There was Damon, of course, who had hardly left my side since they discharged me from the hospital, but he didn't have to wonder what he did wrong. He kept saying that I didn't need to apologize, that this wasn't my fault, but I didn't believe him. Not really.

The first couple of nights home were hard for both of us. It was almost impossible for us to leave Amelia when visiting hours ended and falling asleep to whatever movie we watched wasn't as comforting as it had been before.

Mostly because the dreams that came when I closed my eyes were the worst ones I've ever had.

I had grown accustomed to having Damon with me all day long, but he was back at school today (and had been for a couple of days now). So, I was left to my own devices. I wondered how his day was going. Was he doing well? Did returning to some form of normalcy make things easier on him?

If he felt like this—like he hit rock-bottom—would he say anything?

There was a light knock on my door, a quiet rapping noise that kept going, even after it became clear I would not respond.

Not that it mattered, Mom and Dad were coming in whether I gave them the okay or not.

It was going to be a busy few days for them. So, I assumed they were here for their normal pre-trip meeting with me.

They were going to Dahlgren—the naval base my Uncle Marshall was living on. For an extended New Year's celebration with the Bennett clan. Before this, I was supposed to go with them. "This" being my pregnancy. Dad was skittish whenever Mom brought up how we were going to have to address it when the holiday rolled around. He was dreading it; Mom was, too. The competition they started—and were constantly winning—was no longer an easy victory.

However, seeing as I was still recovering from major abdominal surgery, an hours-long car ride didn't seem like a good idea. Especially with Dad at the wheel. And I couldn't be that far away from Amelia. Me not getting to bring her home with me was agonizing enough. If I had to miss out on visiting her to listen to my cousin brag, I might completely lose my shit.

Of course, I felt uncomfortable telling Dad this. He left the room whenever Damon and I were talking about our daughter. That killed me, too, but I didn't think there was any way to fix that problem.

At least not without serious soul-searching on his part.

Needless to say, when I cited, "copious amounts of vaginal bleeding," as my excuse for staying put, I'd never seen him look more relieved.

As I expected, my mother and father waltzed into my bedroom, fake, uneasy smiles plastered on their faces.

Dad stood at the foot of my bed while Mom sat on the edge of my mattress. I kept my gaze focused on the ceiling; arms wrapped around my pillow. I wished I could curl into a ball, but that kind of movement would cause more harm than good.

Because of stitches and staples.

"We're getting ready to leave, sweetie." Mom reached out and brushed a lock of hair off my forehead.

I did my best to not recoil at her touch.

"You're sure you don't want to let Damon deal with all the hospital stuff?"

That made me bristle. I looked at my dad, who didn't really want me to say yes, disheartened that he took his passive-aggressive comments that far over the line. "I'm fine here."

"We'll tell everyone that you miss them," Mom assured me

I nodded, uncertain by how I felt about her words. "Thanks…"

She leaned over and gave me a peck on the forehead. "Of course, Bonnie Bear."

Then, they gave me the typical rundown—pizza money is on the counter, call Phyllis in case of an emergency, our phones will be on 24/7 if you need us (blah, blah, blah). To get them to leave faster, I made noncommittal comments after every pause in the conversation.

"I remember Mom, don't worry. I'll be okay." I lied.

"I know," she said.

Did she, though?

I was discreet as I studied her facial expression. A warm smile, perfectly curled hair, green eyes surrounded by thick, mascara-coated lashes. It was easy to see that she was excited about seeing her brother. I wasn't able to figure out if she was worried about leaving her seventeen-year-old daughter, who had just given birth to a baby (who she couldn't take care of), alone.

But I knew it didn't matter if she was. All things considered; this was the easiest way to break the news to my extended family—for all of us. I wouldn't be present to witness Sasha's smug reaction or the brunt of my parent's shame. My dad wouldn't have to look at me, and Mom could easily divert any questions they had back to her niece.

Which, if you accounted for subtext, really meant that they could act like they didn't have a granddaughter—or daughter, for that matter.

~~X~~

After Sasha processes what I've told her, I realize I had been totally right about my assumption months ago. In more ways than one. I had been aware that they kept quiet about Amelia, but I didn't quite understand the level at which Abby and Rudy tried to write me off.

Or maybe I just didn't know hearing someone say it aloud would hurt that much.

Yeah, a little voice in the back of my head says, it's the second one.

When my mother told me that our extended family was going to be visiting, I had paid little attention to her announcement. Sasha and I don't pretend to get along, so there wasn't any need to act otherwise. My interest had been mildly piqued when I was informed that Emily and Lucy were coming as well.

Mom doesn't make as much of an effort to invite them to get-togethers… hasn't since Grams died. It makes me wonder if I'm missing an important anniversary of something-or-other, but my mind comes up blank when I try to come up with an answer.

I guess now is a good time to get one, though. "You guys didn't come all the way here to catch up with me."

Sasha looks away from me, suddenly very interested in the pictures sitting atop my dresser. "No, but I don't exactly know why. Well… I do, but I'm not supposed to."

"I'm lost," I say tiredly. "I just want to know what's going on. My parents are way less communicative than yours."

"Valid point. Okay… it's supposed to be a graduation party."

"A graduation party," I feel dumb. Graduation was in May, and we already had a celebratory dinner sans Mr. Salvatore to commemorate the night. Why would anyone throw me a party now? Especially because Abby and Rudy don't exactly think I deserve a party. They didn't get anything for Amelia, and I don't expect any different for me.

"Yeah," she still doesn't meet my eyes. "For both of us… it was my mom's idea. I heard her and Aunt Abby talking about it last week when she called the house."

That makes more sense. "And my mom agreed to it?"

"Not at first," Sasha admits. "But my mom kept asking why she was so against it, and she finally caved and said yes. She also said you weren't up to making the trip to Dahlgren yet and that we'd all have to come to Mystic Falls. We didn't understand at first… Uncle Rudy said you were back to normal… but it's obvious now that he wasn't talking about the flu."

"Yeah," I murmur, not knowing what else to say.

I guess I should be happy that my parents relented to Aunt Bianca's suggestion in the first place, be glad that they're easing up a bit, but I can't muster up any emotion. All that I can think is how they didn't really want to celebrate me, that they had to be coerced into it, and I am slowly realizing that the lines between all of my different problems are bleeding together. The sinking feeling of dread is spreading, and I don't know why even the smallest of things feel like a soul-crushing event.

"We didn't expect this, though. I mean… you're… you."

I may have laughed at Sasha's awkwardness if she was referencing anything else. "… well, you can relax now. You're clearly the favorite Bennett, and I've fucked up any chance of being the family prodigy."

"Bonnie…" she starts, and the way she says my name reminds me of when Mom told me everyone would visit us—two days ago.

"Bonnie… are you in here? Can we talk about something? Your cousin is going to be spending the weekend with us. Isn't that nice?"

"What weekend?" was my reply

"This one! It'll be fun… you'll see… I could use your help with making dessert; do you know where your grandmother's cookie recipe is?"

"The party isn't just about me. You graduated, too. Believe me, I would've loved to have one to myself, but that's not how Grams would've wanted it."

I chew on my bottom lip, thinking it over. Grams was always fair—nobody got more than someone else on their birthday, not on holidays or when it came to doing well in school. She spread her love to all of her children and grandchildren evenly. Even so, I have this long-held belief that she and I had a special bond. A deep understanding that only existed between us.

What would her honest reaction be?

I've tried not to think too hard about it, but sometimes it's difficult to ignore. I've silently begged for some sign that it would be okay, rhetorically asked her what to do, but never dared to imagine how she would feel deep down.

I nod slowly. "… Thanks, Sasha. That means a lot."

"I know. Just act surprised when you come back from the hospital. If they figure out I told you, then I will get you back."

"Noted."

My cousin didn't have to worry about me slipping up. By the time I stumble through the front door the next morning, I have completely forgotten about the real reason behind this last-minute family reunion.

Sweet dreams evaded me last night, which left me with very little sleep or ability to function without at least three cups of coffee (the extra caffeinated kind). The entire ordeal is made worse because I can't remember what my nightmares were about. I just recall lots of screams, some of which were real, and woke Damon up. Deep down, I know that they were of the typical variety and it's making me jumpy.

I don't notice the festive scene outside until I've downed one mug of coffee and am halfway through pouring a second one. The liquid burns my tongue and throat as I chug it, grateful for any pain that isn't emotionally driven. I nearly choke on it when I look through the sliding glass door.

Several collapsible tables are set up throughout the backyard. There are a few clusters of metal chairs scattered across the grass. There is a cooler filled to the brim with ice and cans of beer and soda. My Uncle Marshall is standing in front of my dad's cherry-red grill—the one that never gets used, even during this time of the year. I see a smaller patio table with a bunch of food atop it and a small kiddie pool Mom must have picked up for Emily's sons.

Sure enough, Caden is splashing around while his twin brother, Max, searches for water toys.

I remember when Emily announced she was pregnant.

We were opening presents on Christmas Day when she passed an envelope to Aunt Calla and Grams. Inside was a cutesy postcard that said something to the effect of Bennett babies arriving this June! It was nice—everyone was overjoyed—but I recall feeling rather neutral about it. I was happy for Emily and her husband, but I wasn't nearly as excited as Grams and my aunt had been.

Babies are cute—Caden and Max ridiculously so—but they just celebrated their fifth birthday. I was only fourteen when they were born; I did not know what was going to happen a few short years later…

"Okay, you're officially a zombie," I hear Damon saying. "You just stood there while I took a picture of coffee coming out of your nose."

"What?" I snap, focusing on the sticky mess dripping down my tank top. "Delete that or die, Salvatore!"

He chuckles lightly. "I'll take my chances. You aren't fast enough to catch me if I run."

"I know where you live," I reply menacingly.

"Remind me not to tell you where I get stationed."

He hands me a napkin as I glower, snatching it from him with more anger than is warranted. "Thanks."

"So… are you going to go out there looking like death warmed over? This is your party, you know."

"You knew about this?"

"Your mom may have mentioned something about it to me."

"And you didn't tell me?" I shriek, though part of me knows I shouldn't be reacting so intensely. Sasha did say something to me, after all. I just forgot about it. But Damon? He knew, and he didn't give me a heads up!

"You deserve a pleasant surprise," he explains. "We've had enough shitty ones for a lifetime."

"I won't argue with that," I concede, wiping the huge brown splotch on my chest.

"There is a God! It's a miracle—finally something you can't bitch about!"

I frown, gaze flitting back to the twins. They are both in the tiny basin now, giggling as they dump buckets of water on each other's heads. For a split second, I don't acknowledge Damon. I barely even register the sound of his voice—I only put his words together after I give them a moment to sink in.

When I reply, my voice is weak. "Oh, I can find plenty to bitch about."

"I'm aware."

"Everyone came… even Lucy."

Lucy is Emily's younger sister. I have envied her for years now, if only because she is so far removed from the rivalry between us. Emily—being the oldest—wasn't often compared to me or Sasha. But Lucy? She was just young enough to fall into Abby and Bianca's orbit. They were always encouraging us to follow in Lucy's footsteps (she was student body president in high school, after all) but we had spoken little since she moved to California.

She rarely travels back to the east coast, opting to spend holidays with her girlfriend, Jessica, instead.

"Well, you were valedictorian," Damon points out, nudging me playfully. "It's kind of a big deal."

I sigh, "not to the hosts."

"Well, I think it's important."

"That makes one person."

"Stop being such a Negative Nancy. Someone might mistake you for Stefan."

"Stefan is realistic—" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Will you hurry up and get changed? I want to meet the rest of my in-laws."

"One, they aren't your in-laws. We aren't married—nobody has a familial obligation to be nice to you. And even if we were, I don't think they'd like you. They frown upon shotgun weddings."

"Puh-lease—like I'd marry you. It's not like you're the mother of my child or anything. Oh, and you would be way too into the whole 'nagging wife' schtick."

I elbow him in the stomach and toss the paper towel in the trashcan. "Your support means so much," I quip snidely, irrationally hurt by his comment.

"You're welcome," he says with a grin.

When I don't smile in return, his cocky expression falters.

"Bon Bon, are you alright?"

"Just tired…"

"Okay," I don't think he believes me.

I head back into the foyer. Do I have a party dress? Could I fit into one? I wrack my brain, trying to remember what I have hanging in the closet. I'm halfway up the stairs when Damon calls to me.

"Bonster?"

I pause. "Yes?"

"For the record, I'd be insanely lucky if you lost your mind and decided to spend the rest of your life with me."

This brings me a genuine sense of elation. Deep down, I know he was just teasing me, but I'm too tired to look for a double-meaning in anything—it has taken all my leftover energy to climb the steps, I don't have extra to expend.

"Ditto."

~~X~~

My presence goes unnoticed for the first ten minutes I am standing in the backyard.

I'm not mad about it—I avoided coming out via the back door for that reason. I can't muster up enough enthusiasm to feign surprise and happiness in front of that many people all at once, which is what I would've had to do if I opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the deck. Uncle Marshall is currently putting hamburger patties onto a plate. There's no way I could have snuck by him.

I hang off to the side, searching for Damon amongst the various clusters of family members. I'm not sure who I expected to find him with—Sasha or Uncle Marshall, probably—but he isn't anywhere near them. Instead, I catch sight of him near the center of the yard, the sun shining down on him like a spotlight.

Right next to Caden and Max.

A sharp pang runs through my stomach. I feel jealous for a few seconds. Both preschoolers look like they are having a blast, spraying him with water, coming from what appears to be a toy whale. My heart drops to my feet. Damon swears up and down that he took great pleasure in tormenting Stefan when they were little, claims that he didn't have a nurturing bone in his body until Amelia was born. And any mushy displays of human emotion are strictly because of her.

I know that isn't entirely true; I constantly refute that statement every time it leaves his mouth, but I can't help but feel a little envious of him now. This all comes so naturally to him—so much so that nobody really believes it (even if they see it for themselves). Why can't I act as he does? Why do I feel like the world will implode when I come within a certain distance to the hospital?

Damon must feel my eyes on him because he looks up and smiles at me. Then he shouts, "look, guys! There's cousin Bonnie!"

Two sets of chubby legs run over to me, green eyes bright, and cheeks dimpled. It's weird—I didn't think they'd remember me. They only see me a few times a year and I'm not someone they like to play with. And if they truly know who I am, then why are they so excited to see me? Abby is the one that hands them all of their birthday and Christmas gifts. Shouldn't they be rushing to Mom instead?

I don't have time to make sense of it, though. Caden and Max barrel into me. I subsequently tumble backward, landing on my butt, dangerously close to the tree that I'd taken refuge under. My elbows just barely miss scraping against the bark, though I'm more concerned about the boys. They could've hurt themselves… the last thing I need is for someone else's kid to be injured under my supervision. I know I'm not up for any parenting awards, but I really don't want to lose any points before I can actually take my daughter home.

If, an ominous voice in the back of my mind chides.

My jaw clenches as I brace myself for an onslaught of kisses and hugs. "Cousin Damon is so cool," they chant, and Max—or maybe it's Caden—plants a kiss on my eye.

They pronounce it, "kewl."

I wipe the saliva off my face, giving them a once-over. Neither boy seems to have any bumps, bruises, cuts, or scrapes. I breathe a sigh of relief as Damon approaches, laughing at us obnoxiously.

"You okay, guys?"

"Yes," the first twin says, turning to me. "Can Damon stay forever?"

"Yeah," the second twin says. "We like him. He does a great T-Rex impression."

My boyfriend demonstrates his newfound talent by bending his arms, pulling them close to his chest, and roaring as loud as he possibly can.

I shake my head, chuckling quietly. Damn him and his charisma! "I'll think about it…" I trail off, unsure of whether or not I should tack a name on to the end of my sentence.

I know one of them has a birthmark on their arm, but I can't remember the name of that twin. All I know is the boy talking to me doesn't have a birthmark.

"Max," Damon fills in.

I glower at him. How does he know that?

"They were kind enough to introduce themselves," he explains.

I nod slowly. "Look at you, remembering stuff."

"It's a talent."

Max grabs onto my shoulders and shakes me. "Cousin Sasha says he's your boyfriend! Does that mean your gonna marry him?"

The way he draws out boy is sort of cute. "No, well… um, I'm a little too young for that, guys."

"But your old—aren't you twelve?" I can't believe I'm being interrogated by people who wear diapers at night.

"She's older than that," Damon stage-whispers.

Caden's eyes widen. "Are you thirteen?"

I don't have a chance to answer. Emily is coming over to us, an amused smile on her face. "Max… Caden… what have I told you about jumping on people?"

"Not to," Caden says glumly.

"So why did you?"

"We were trying to thank Bonnie for letting Damon come over."

My cousin scoops up the boy closest to her and Max stands up and looks at me apologetically. "Sorry."

"It's okay," I assure him, pretending to brush the dirt off my dress. "I'm not hurt."

"You guys should tell the stork to bring you a baby," Max declares, wriggling out of Emily's arms. "My friend Noelle… she goes to my preschool… told me that her daddy asked the stork if he give him a magic potion to put a baby in her mommy's belly and he did!"

"Max, Noelle got a time out for telling us. She said it's inappropriate, remember?"

Max looks at his brother and laughs. "No!"

Emily admonishes the boys before telling them to go look for Aunt Abby.

"Bye Bonnie," they trill. "Don't come to our house if you don't bring Damon!"

My mouth goes dry as I struggle to get to my feet. Damon pulls me up, wrapping an arm around my waist to steady me. I won't admit it, but that fall made my stomach hurt. The bumpy raised scar on my abdomen burns and I wonder if that caused any lasting damage.

"I'm sorry, Bon. They aren't usually that blunt, I swear."

"I'm not upset… don't worry about it," I wave my hand dismissively.

"Aunt Abby told me you had a baby," Emily says, a knowing glint in her eyes.

I always admired Emily's ability to somehow know what's going on without being told directly. It saves us from a lot of awkward conversations that way. I'm even glad she came right out with it. Emily isn't as… abrasive as Sasha.

"Sometimes the stork comes when you don't want him to," I joke halfheartedly.

"Well, we'll need to talk later, maybe when she's home we could come over to see you—the boys would love to see her."

"Okay."

"Great! I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have to go save your mom from the world's youngest pro-wrestlers," she turns on her heel, stops, and looks back at me. "Oh… and Bon?" she says.

"Yeah?"

"Congratulations—on both fronts. You'll be an amazing mom!"